Falling
by hoshiko2kokoro
Summary: Canada is desperate to seek help for America when the Great Depression hits him physically. He didn't think England would be the right choice.


Many Americans say they felt the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and how it tore their lives apart, but no one could physically feel an economic plunge. They couldn't feel their bones quiver to the point they couldn't stand, their muscles and nerves tensing almost to the breaking point, their blood turning cold only to start boiling, burning, searing as it tore through their body. No one could; they wouldn't live through it.

But America did. His legs gave out as he walked, and he thought he was falling into a pit of torturous darkness where he wasn't saved from the Crash but stretched and pulled in thousands of directions at once, faceless voices screaming and crying; at him or in general, America didn't know. He didn't care. It's not like he could understand them anyways. This was the closest he'd felt to dying.

Canada was with him when America fell. He yelped at seeing his brother collapse, knowing it was useless to call for help. What could a human do for an inhuman ailment? Besides, most were rushing to the banks in a panic and didn't notice a man bending over in the middle of the street.

"Alfred!" Canada yelled, horrified. He knelt down beside the nation, a shaking hand on America's back. "Alfred, what happened?"

But Canada knew; even before asking he knew. Around them was complete chaos as Americans jostled to be the front of the line at the banks, banging on closed doors and trying to make it inside somehow. Their anger and fear were what brought America to his knees. Even Canada could taste the palpable stress, and these weren't even his citizens.

America suddenly vomited blood and bile. His hands scrambled to his mouth to hide it, but it had already made a puddle on the cement. Sweat formed rivulets on his brow, slipping down the back of his neck and following the protruding veins of his face. His glasses fell off of his nose, clattering to the sidewalk. America didn't notice; he had already been blinded by the white hot pain coursing through his heart. He was heaving, about to vomit again, when he reached out to grab Canada's collar.

Canada leaned in to hear him, but America's speech was incomprehensible. Then, he fainted.

Who could Canada turn to? America had isolated himself for so long that the few relations he had were too distant to be of much help. And most of Europe was too busy in their own turmoil to care much for America's problem. So he counted on himself to care for his brother until America recovered.

So he was quite surprised when everyone actually reacted.

Countries from all over, many still war torn, flocked to see America. And none of them were in a particularly good mood either. Canada was wary of letting America appear in public after his harsh ordeal, but the nation had recovered in high enough spirits to stand and face his fellow countries.

Lithuania had been present when Canada had dragged America home. He had worried after hearing of the news on the radio and took it upon himself to fret about the house like a wife. He fetched water and food when Canada thought America could keep it down. America told him not to run so much. Lithuania had also felt the effects of the Crash on his economy and it must have been a great burden on him. It only made America feel worse knowing two countries had to dote on him as if he were too helpless to do much.

Now Lithuania stood beside America, a firm arm to help keep him standing steady. America might feel guilt and anger and a multitude of other emotions that weren't entirely his, but he'd be damned if he let on to this to the European powers. After the Great War, he was still too wary to be involved in much of their affairs. He didn't feel that his efforts were well received, even if he stood by the fact that his involvement helped end the war.

First, America made a speech to explain what exactly had happened to the other countries. All the nations sat silently fuming. Then they exploded before America could offer any solutions or finish apologizing. Germany was most vocal with his vitriol and held nothing back. His own economy was still quite crippled after the Great War.

Canada watched America in fear of his reaction, but the nation took everyone's complaints well. That was, until Russia smiled, unaffected by the world crisis, and stole Lithuania away. America watched, stunned, only able to offer a tired smile and a wave good-bye. Russia's cruel words had stuck him hard; "you are unable to take care of him now." He knew it was true.

And that was what broke him.

Canada couldn't bear to watch anymore. He couldn't be the only one to help America. Someone had to take pity on him. Even if it were to help themselves in the long run, there had to be help. America retired to a private room and locked the door, so Canada could freely roam amongst the lingering countries to ask. However, most countries had already left to return home or rest at their hotel. The pickings were slim, America would say (or would he say it like that?).

Remembering his weak brother forced Canada to forego his social anxiety and approach a country. France was first.

"You want my help?" he asked in French tiredly. His hair was frizzed and unstyled due to stress. The bags under his eyes startled Canada. "How should I do that when I can barely afford eggs?"

Canada tried again. "Moral support could help too."

France grimaced as if the very idea caused him pain. "I have no desire to help him. It is America's fault this mess happened. He can clean it up himself."

He abruptly left after that, leaving a stunned Canada in his wake. He tried with Mexico soon after, but she ran in the opposite direction the minute she saw Canada heading her way. Others took her lead and hastily left having probably been tipped off by France. Canada sighed dejectedly. He hoped America never jumped into another war to help these countries ever again.

"Is there something the matter, Canada?" an English voice asked.

Canada spun around to see England. The English nation had been vocal in his criticism towards America, but it lingered on the line of lecturing rather than flat out anger and resentment. Canada was reminded of when he and America were young, and when America would break something England would scold the colony for quite some time.

But how could he possibly ask England to help? He knew his close alley still harbored sensitive feelings when it involved America. Sometimes just mentioning his name around a certain time of year could set England off. Canada didn't need that right now.

He feigned a smile, albeit not as great as America's, but it was still there. "Just tired like everyone else."

England nodded in understanding. "America's really made a mess of things."

Canada felt a twinge of annoyance at this. He'd heard enough blame. Sure he suffered too from this disaster, but America's Crash was more than just his fault. It was just easier to point a finger at a big contributor, though. He knew that he was just overly protective of America because he had seen his fall and witnessed the physical effects the Crash had on him.

And yet, England's tone sounded less harsh than France's had been. He picked at lint on his coat's sleeve, avoiding Canada's gaze. "I was wondering how America is doing." He said it so quietly, as if worried another nation would hear him. "N-not that I care about the idiot's well being. He just looked pale during the meeting is all. It's his fault and he needs to be on top of the situation if he's to fix it."

Canada's shoulders sagged and his smile became genuine and grateful. "I suppose I can ask you then."

"Ask me what?" England lifted his eyes.

Canada proceeded to explain America's violent reaction to the Crash and all of the physical effects in the days afterwards. As he spoke, England's head slowly lifted and his shoulders squared until he was good and tight; tense with emotion. His hands had fallen to his sides where they hung limply. His lips thinned until they were barely visible and his eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Where is he?" England asked suddenly. It seemed as if he had suddenly discarded any more façade of disinterest.

Canada's heart raced as he hurriedly showed England to the locked room. He knocked twice to no reply. Then England tried with far more force. His facial expression and body language hadn't changed.

"Jesus Canada!" America shouted through the door. "What do you want?"

"It's England," England said sternly. He gripped the door knob in anticipation, although he looked ready to just bust it down himself. "Open this door."

America's voice was lighter now, and he laughed as he stuttered, "O-oh! W-well howdy England! Um, geeze, I'm mighty tired right now, so I don't think I'll be coming out to see you."

"Open up," England repeated in the same tone as before.

For a moment it seemed as if America was going to ignore England, but the soft click of the lock was loud enough to show he'd heard. America opened the door slowly, barely showing his face. From what little could be seen his face looked worse than before. There were telltale signs that he'd been crying; puffy eyes and tear tracks down a pale face, quickly flushing from embarrassment at seeing England.

England inhaled loudly and pushed his way inside. "Look at you. You're a right mess! Have you not been taking proper care of you yourself? Really!"

Canada withered under the accusing glare America shot at him. He slowly edged his way behind the doorframe. America turned sharply away from his brother and walked over towards the far window. Even from across the room Canada could see how tense America was.

"Canada?" England's voice snapped the nation back to attention. "Would you mind fetching us some water?"

"Oh, of course." Canada slipped out of view, sighing in relief. For a brief moment he thought of doing as England asked, but he lingered awhile longer.

When young, Canada would always hide just outside the door listening as America was first scolded and then comforted by England. It had always been England's way of dealing with America even after he had long outgrown his colony status. Canada was simply lectured and rarely got in any real trouble with England, so he never knew the extent of England's anger. America, however, was well versed in this situation, and he'd complain later to Canada about how harsh England could be, overlooking England's underlying kindness. He'd come out more annoyed than understanding. How Canada hoped that wouldn't happen now.

The tension was tangible as England paced the square sitting room. America hadn't budged from the window he'd claimed. They tested each other; who would break first? Who would reveal how they felt first? Canada was amazed America still had strength to do that.

Finally, "You here to lecture me more?"

England stopped to regard America. The younger nation had sounded tired, defeated. It came from a man that was too young to sound already on the verge of collapse. England knew that tone quite well having come teetering close to it a few times here and there during medieval times.

"If it is needed, yes," England crisply replied.

America chuckled with no mirth. "Still think you're my big brother?"

"Only when you act like a complete idiot," England hissed. "Which is often, so _yes_."

America was silent at this. England sighed and pulled a chair from the lone table in the room, placing it behind America.

"Sit," he ordered. America didn't move. "Oh sit you insufferable-"

"D'ya always have to _do_ that?" America yelled, turning on England.

The nation was unphased. "You make it so easy."

"You don't have to be here. Didn't you get your fill along with _everyone else_?" America flung his hand at the door as his voice rose. "Why you gotta yell at me some more?"

England paused, biting his lower lip. "You think I'm like the rest?"

"What're you doing here if you're not gonna scold me some more like I'm a kid?"

"Sit," England said, his eyes dropping to the chair. "Please."

America hesitated, and then took a seat. He let his hands hang between his knees, his shoulders hunched under his ears. "I'm guessin' Canada told you everything."

Canada felt his ears grow hot. He was thankful neither hadn't noticed the fact he still hadn't returned. Still, Canada took a peak around the corner of the doorway. He saw England standing before America, but he wasn't looking at him. His hands were clasped behind his back and his legs spread apart like he was a soldier standing in a line. Canada couldn't see his face, but he imagined it looked tight, almost pained.

"America," England started with a tone that didn't betray his emotions. "What happened should be seen as something good."

America furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. "Huh? How do you figure that?"

"It means you're powerful enough to affect the rest of the world." England glanced at America. "Is that not what you had sought for all this time?"

America clasped his hands together, working them nervously. "Yeah, I guess. I'd rather it be a lot more heroic. Or something."

"America, you can't wish for that. Just let it come with time." England shifted so his arms were now crossed against his chest. "It took me a long time to come to my status. You think I always had it easy?"

"No," America grumbled. "You'd have come to see me more often if you had it easy."

England winced at that deliberate jab. Canada prayed that they'd drop the direction of this conversation. It'd only end in yelling if this kept up.

"And do you know how many people and countries hated me" England asked slowly, determined to not slip with his mask of detachment. "Most of Europe wanted to kick me from my perch, my colonies resented me…" America looked away sullenly. "And it seemed the more powerful I became, the less liked I was."

"So you sayin' that'll happen to me?" America asked.

"Certain politicians of mine think so," England replied with a smirk. "I for one remain unconvinced."

"So what's your point?" America had lifted his head, but he looked put out by all of this talk. His own mask was starting to crack. He couldn't keep up this game for long.

America learned this tough disguise from England, and while he was better than most countries, he couldn't top England. This was mainly because England knew him too well and was better at catching all of his tricks. America must've remembered this for he began to crumble right before England.

"My point is…this will keep happening." England was moving from the first stage and into the second. His tone was softening and his body language relaxed. "You have to get used to this, or not become so involved in international affairs, although I see that as highly improbable."

"So… you're saying I'll feel that all again?" He was cracking, piece by piece, and his body crumpled under his weight. He began to cry into his hands, his glasses falling off again. "That I'll feel like I'm dying. That darkness and a thousand voices will…will suffocate me?"

England moved towards America quickly, but paused just before him with trembling fingers reaching out to him. They hadn't embraced in centuries. To do so now might upset America further. But he felt alone, severed from the world by scathing words and cruel judgment. England decided against any more second guesses and carefully placed faces, and pulled America into a hug.

"There there," he cooed as he had done so long ago. "Now do you see why I tried so hard to keep you from this nonsense?"

"I can't do this," America said, his words muffled in England's chest. "I can't…"

"Yes you can," England said gently. He rubbed America's back, feeling his entirety shudder against him. "I have faith in you. Come now, I raised you so you have my old back bone. If that Frog had raised you, well, I'm afraid you wouldn't have amounted to much of anything."

America gasped out a laugh. He brought his hands up to grasp at England's clothes. He pulled him down so England was on his knees, making it easing to hug around each other's shoulders; a more equal gesture than being coddled. This only made America cry harder.

England brushed America's bangs aside, kissing his forehead with sincere tenderness. America buried his face deeper into England's body as he continued to sob. They remained that way for some time neither moving nor talking, and it looked right. England hadn't started to cry, but the expression on his face was one of obvious sorrow and a joint pain. While he had a lesser effect of the Crash on him than America he still felt it, but this was personal.

Canada left them in private to finally collect the pitcher of water he should have gotten long ago. He felt that America and England deserved that moment alone together. It wasn't surprising that the nation that once stood so close to America could be the one to help him. They may not be brothers, but they still shared deep and personal memories that kept them connected in an unbreakable bond.

It soothed Canada. He knew America could overcome this Depression now. All it took was some comfort from hands that had known the best way to soothe and that had once wiped his tears away, and a heart that loved him enough so that financial hardships and revolutions couldn't sever their feelings. He knew that it would strengthen in the coming years. And really, they needed that. They needed each other. England needed a hug and a moment to reconcile just as much as the younger nation.

The future didn't seem as dreary then.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: This is a birthday gift for my lovely and amazing friend ahr0 who is an amazing artist and author. I _highly_ recommend you check her stuff out! HAPPY BIRYHDAY AHRO! (Her tumblr is ahr0 and her fanfic account is Ahr0.)

Anyways, the meeting scene is canon and the countries really did belt America with anger, but it wasn't JUST America's fault the Great Depression happened. Yes, a lot of it WAS, but there are more fingers to point at than him. It's too long to get into, but I suggest you look into the history of it on more than just Wikipedia.


End file.
